


Stay Young, Go Dancing

by reversetheuniverse



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:55:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5992324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reversetheuniverse/pseuds/reversetheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's in the way her hair tumbles upon her shoulders after a mission, in the way he gets through to her like no other. It's in the way she eats fast food in the middle of their two-bedroom apartment without dropping a single crumb, in the way she helps him home when he's in a drunken stupor. It's easier to say in small gestures, but sometimes it doesn't need to be spoken, only seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I want to rent hotel rooms with you and spend more than half our time being outside.

**Author's Note:**

> This is certainly not my first fic (not by a long shot, if you look at my page), but this is my first Soul Eater fic I've published! Ever since the big pause on HS, I've fallen back into SoMa being my big OTP, so I'm really excited to start writing (and hopefully finishing) a bunch of fics for them. I've toyed around with this idea that I got from a tumblr post where I take each sentence from the post (I'll include the link below) and then write a 1,000 word fic for it. It's all linear, and all post-Asura's defeat, and it's a fun little fic where we get to see Soul and Maka's relationship develop into something more, from the reluctance of accepting feelings, to the unsureness of becoming intimate, to just falling in love in general. I really love this fic, and I hope you all enjoy it, too! 
> 
> Here's the post link: http://promathome.tumblr.com/post/128383809450/1-i-want-to-rent-hotel-rooms-with-you-and-spend
> 
> Oh, and also, the title is from a song by my fave band ever--Stay Young, Go Dancing by Death Cab For Cutie. Check the song out! :)

“Just give us whatever room you’ve got,” Maka mutters, yawning as she hands over her Shibusen-issued card. The woman at the front desk studies the card and then studies Maka carefully, as if she were some sort of toddler demanding a hotel room at midnight. (The more Soul thinks about it, the more the description seems fittingly _accurate_.) After careful consideration, the woman hands Maka back her card and starts typing away at her keyboard, scrolling through until her amber eyes meet theirs again.

“We’ve got one on the third floor, number 3-1-2. Here’s your keys. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.” Maka nods her head as she takes the key cards, nudging Soul with her elbow as she passes by to motion him towards the elevator. He follows behind, as always, just like the dutiful watchdog he is. He presses the button for her when they arrive at the metal sliding doors and then waits, leaning his back against the wall with a sigh.

They’ve had a _long_ night.

When the doors finally slide open, they amble inside, lethargic. Soul finds the number three button on the panel and pushes it, joining Maka’s side once the doors slide closed. He eyes her curiously when she bends over, realizing a moment later that she’s removing her shoes.

“Hold these, please?” she says once they’re off, dangling them in front of Soul’s face. He grabs them from her grasp with a grumble, but doesn’t complain. It’s only temporary, after all (and he can’t find it in himself to deny her anything.) Maka hums in appreciation, an added measure just in case he doesn’t already know she’s grateful of him. He knows.

The doors open several seconds later and they file out, Maka’s finger raised as she searches for their room number. When she finds it, she quickly swipes the key card and ushers him inside, shutting the door abruptly. After Soul flickers on the lights, he notices a problem: there’s only one bed.

It’s silly that after all this time being partners they can’t just share a bed for one goddamn night, but he soldiers on anyway, grabbing a pillow from the bed and tossing it on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Maka inquires of him, watching with one brow raised as he lowers himself to the floor.

“Getting ready to sleep, what does it look like?” he grunts back at her, unable to stop the bitterness from exhaustion slipping through his tone.

“Stop being dumb, Soul,” she says softly, her vivid forest-green eyes boring a hole into his heart. “Get on the damn bed already.”

“No, you stop being dumb, Maka. I’m not letting you sleep on the floor.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Oh. _Oh._

He watches her as she shuffles to the other side of the room, pulling her ties out of her hair, allowing her wheat-blonde locks to fall loosely onto her shoulder. Soul never says it aloud, but he likes it when she puts her hair down. (His only qualm is that it makes him _desperately_ want to run his fingers through the soft strands.) She jumps onto the bed after she’s unraveled a bit, emitting an _“Ahhhh”_ as she relaxes. Soul slips carefully in bed next to her, leaving a reasonable amount of space between the two of them, an appropriate distance. He lets the minutes tick by as he waits in agony for the moment she’ll tell him she’s changed her mind, that she doesn’t feel comfortable residing in the same bed as him, but that moment never arrives.

It takes him a second to realize she’s fallen asleep, her gentle breaths barely escaping her delicate, pink lips. Soul turns on his side to face her, his crimson eyes trained on her peaceful face.

He wonders to himself if there’ll ever be a moment where that empty space won’t feel like miles between them. He’s not sure when his want for isolation changed into craving her closeness, and if he’s being honest, it terrifies him. He desires his meister’s porcelain skin against his, to be able to run the tips of his fingers over every hill and valley that form the expanse of her body. He wants Maka so badly, and she wants nothing to do with him in that way. The thought of it tortures him, even keeps him wide awake at night.

The bed shifts underneath him all of a sudden, catching him off guard as she nestles up against him, radiating heat like a furnace.

“I’m right here, Soul,” Maka murmurs softly into his arm, her hands clasping his shoulder. Soul turns to stone—she’s _never_ done this before, and the whole situation lights a million neurons in his brain at once, none of them daring to fizzle out. His mind is fireworks and his heart is a snare drum about to beat wildly out of his chest.

“Maka . . .” he whispers, her name barely escaping his mouth, but he stops as soon as he feels her forehead burrow against the crook of his neck.

“You think too much. Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” Okay. He can do that. Sleep is nothing when she’s pressing up against him, a reassuring presence sending him warm regards.

Soul’s eyes close and, for the first time in a while, he can rest easy.


	2. I want to get lost while we’re driving because I can’t read maps and you are too stubborn to ask for directions.

Soul’s driving her _up the goddamn wall._

“Maka, are you sure you know where the hell you’re going? We’ve been going down this stretch of road for twenty fucking miles. We should’ve turned like twenty minutes ago.”

“We’re fine, Soul,” she growls through gritted teeth. Maka’s not just mad at Soul, really, she’s mad at herself. He’d been teasing her that she was shit at driving, and she just _had_ to prove him wrong. She’s inherently stubborn, and anytime she can prove him wrong gives her a rush of adrenaline. She thrives off of her ability to be correct, but this . . . well, it’s not proving to be one of those situations.

He’s right, she knows it, and she _loathes it._

“Okay, how about we stop at that gas station over there and ask for directions?”

“ _No_.” She doesn’t need another person telling her just how wrong she is. One is fine enough.

“Uh, okay.” Soul pauses a moment, contemplating something, before turning to side-eye her. “Oh my fucking god, you’re ridiculous. You have no goddamn clue what you’re doing!” She pays him no heed. “Maka, just stop the car.”

“I’ve lived in this area for years. I know what I’m doing, Soul!” She doesn’t, but she’s not about to admit that to him.

“You’re so fucking bullheaded! Just pull over the car and we can look over this map together! It’s not a hard thing to do.”

“Can you just trust me on this one, Soul?” She doesn’t have to see his face to know he’s offended by her comment.

“Trust has nothing to do with it. Just pull the damned car over, okay?” The soothing tone of his voice manages to pass through her rough exterior and she complies, steering the car off to the side of the road, putting it in park. Her fingers remain on the wheel, however, her gaze trained ahead on the ruddy desert.

“Look--” she begins, but she’s cut off by the gentle grip of his fingers against her bicep, his eyes flashing to hers with concern.

“Why are you fighting me on this? You’ve been tense all week. I know we can both act like idiots sometimes, but there’s something you’re not telling me . . . Maka?” Maka knows exactly why she’s been off-kilter, but she’d sooner die than admit it to Soul. She’d barely even begun to admit it to herself, and letting the words spill out of her mouth would be disastrous at this point. But he’s right—she’s being overly-obstinate, and they’re both suffering because of it.

“Okay,” she breathes out a moment later, “Maybe I have been a little . . . _stubborn._ ” She doesn’t miss the way one eyebrow arches upward upon his forehead, and she twists her mouth to the side to refrain from chopping him on the head with a book. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Soul reaches over to grab her hand and squeeze it once for reassurance as they’d do any other day. Just like that, the tension amid them settles—Maka’s muscles become less taut and Soul’s shoulders relax. All is forgiven, but silence soon fills the gap between them like it always does. His fingers against her skin burn and remind her of what she’d been fretting over all day prior to their car trip. Maka dares to shift in her seat, glancing at her partner—he’s been staring at her, and she almost misses the heat in his gaze, but she doesn’t.

_Has he always looked at me that way?_

And he dares her to say something. She can feel it in their link, their low-key resonance they manage daily, and finds part of him willing her to mention something to him. But she’s Maka Albarn, the girl who only _just_ realized what she wants, still too afraid to accept it herself. There’s an endless world of possibilities that could come from her truth, and she wants no part in changing her world right now. So she shuts herself off from him, sliding her hand out of his grip to turn back to the road. She clears her throat once before turning the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life.

“We should probably go.” Soul hums beside her in agreement, but his stillness tells her everything she needs to know. She turns back around on the dusty road towards the gas station they passed before, hoping that they’ll give them answers now that she’s given up with her stalwart ways . . . for now. Maka peeks out of the corner of her eyes when she notices a paper in Soul’s grasp that she didn’t see before. A thought occurs to Maka, and suddenly she’s not so sure this whole ordeal is entirely _her_ fault.

“Wait just a minute, weren’t you the one with the map?” The conversation comes to a screeching halt as Soul freezes, blinking slowly before raising his shoulders and shrugging.

“ . . . Maybe?”

“Soul!”

“Hey, it’s not like we knew where we were, anyway!”

“You can’t read maps, can you?!”

“I can read maps!” There’s a slight falter that she detects in his voice, something that’s always made it easy to call his bluff.

“You’re such a filthy liar, Soul!”

The awkward tension still clinging to the atmosphere in the car seems to dissipate as they argue, settling back into a more comfortable state of being for them. The worry still prickles in the back of Maka’s mind, but for now, everything’s as it should be, and she’s okay with that.

“At least I don’t have fat ankles!!”

Well, _almost_ okay.


	3. I want to eat drive-thru food with you on the floor of our first apartment.

 

Soul’s not in the least bit surprised when he finds his meister sprawled out on the floor of their living room in cotton shorts and a barely-modest tank top, mostly because the power had gone out and it was hotter than hell in Death City, even at night. He had gone out to retrieve food, something that they were cut off from when the power decided to give out right as the sky had darkened. So they said goodbye to parmesan chicken (which saddened Soul deeply), and hello to the miracle that was fast food.

“You’ve returned!” Maka exclaims without removing her arm from her face, her nose visibly sniffing at the air. “You better have a strawberry milkshake thrown in there, too.”

“Like I would forget,” Soul scoffs, kicking off his shoes. He sets the meal down briefly and shrugs off his coat before returning to Maka’s side, grease-stained paper bag in hand. “Scooch. You’re hogging the floor.” She groans but obliges, allowing him room to lie next to her. He slips the milkshake into her hand and sets a straw on her chest before claiming his space.

“You’re a godsent, Soul.” He wishes that were true. Rather than argue, he reaches into the bag and extracts a burger for himself, the paper around it crinkling as he unwraps it.

“I’m no miracle worker. Thank Death Burger, they’ve got the goods.” He rips into his food as she grabs a bag of fries, chomping away at them.

“Yeah, but you got it here. That counts for something.” Soul grunts in appreciation, taking another huge chomp out of his grease-laden treat. His brain teases him over the fact that they’ve gotten so domestic over the years, and it gives him terrible, awful hope that doesn’t fade away. He feels like a stupid school boy with his not-so-little crush he harbors for Maka—a crush that, to him, is most definitely unrequited. It hurts, but he lives with it. He deals.

“Heeeyyy, there are less fries in this than there should be,” Maka announces, breaking him from his train of thought. He doesn’t miss the way her emerald eyes fill with fury over the loss of a few fries. “You ate them, didn’t you?!”

“You shoulda came with. Maybe if you hadn’t sat on your lazy ass then you would’ve gotten the proper amount of fries,” he shrugs, taking the last bite of his burger. “Give me a sip of your drink.”

“No way! This is all mine!” She sticks her tongue out at him, the little _brat_ , and Soul has to remind himself that they are not five years old.

“C’mon, just a sip? I did drive my ass all the way out there for you. As I recall, only minutes ago you were calling me a ‘godsent’.” Maka pouts, keeping up with the childish façade.

“Nope. Not gonna happen.” A glint makes its way into Soul’s eye, a warning sign not warranting Maka enough time to escape, but to alert her to his intentions. He flips over to pin her to the ground, but he should know better. Maka’s keen to his advances, and she is not short-handed in the muscle department by any means.

“You’re such a greedy brat,” he struggles to get out, attempting to resist Maka’s rabbit feet kicking at his chest.

“No, you’re the glutton who ate my fries!” she sneers, twisting her arms from his grasp. Soul ditches his hold on her for a last-effort approach—dropping his entire weight on her, crushing her to the floor.

“Hah!” he laughs, his mouth finally reaching the straw and stealing a swig of her milkshake with success.

“G’toff,” Maka mumbles from underneath him, hands thumping at his sides.

“Hmm . . . nah. Don’t wanna.”

“Sooooouuuullll!!!!!” He lifts himself up enough to get a good look at her, when something catches in his throat. Maka seems to have the same idea in her head as her emerald eyes widen and gaze back up at him—they’re close enough that their noses are touching, that her warm breath is able to caress and kiss his cheek. His heart bounds in his chest--the traitor--and his pulse quickens in retaliation.

“Maka . . .” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper, and she reaches with her thumb to smooth out the crease between his brows tentatively. When he looks back into her eyes, he realizes she’s on autopilot, and he may as well be, too. He wants to kiss her so badly right now, and for once he doesn’t feel himself holding back from the motion.

 _Death_ , he’s so fucked. What are strawberry milkshakes? Aphrodisiacs?

“Soul.” She draws his attention back down to her with a sharp assertion of his name, and he’s almost embarrassed by how quickly her voice nudges him out of his reverie. Part of him wants to pretend this is all a dream, their closeness, their verge of entering into an entirely different territory that neither has dared press into before. But Soul knows better—everything about this is one hundred percent authentic. Maka’s real. What they have is real.

The strike of pandemonium through his heart reminds him that he’s terrified of letting her in, and with one last glance into her dreamy eyes, he rolls off of her, lying back onto his side, facing away from her.

_Chicken._

There’s a silence that creeps up and leaves them wordless for the rest of the night, neither one of them daring to break it as they wait restlessly for the rising sun on the horizon to rouse them the next day and carry on as if nothing happened.

That’s how their relationship seems to work these days, anyway.


	4. I want to get drunk in public and have you take me home while I hit on you.

 

The last thing Maka wants on a peaceful Saturday evening is a couple of blotto bastards booty calling her, but that’s what she gets anyway. She has to deal with drunk Soul and pick his sorry ass up from the bar he and Black*Star snuck into, and she doesn’t even want to begin to question where he got his fake ID from. For now, she just wants to collect her weapon and return him to the comforts (and confines) of his own bed in their apartment, but that seems easier said than done. He’s a complete mess when she locates him and Black*Star, and it gives her a headache—she never liked drunk people in the first place, and she did not desire to babysit Soul. He’s a grown-ass man, after all.

“MAKA!!!! SOUL, LOOK!! IT’S MAKA!!!” Of course the blue-haired monkey would be the first one to notice her. Maka stumbles when Soul swivels around in his barstool, his smoldering ember eyes softly gazing into her own as a small smirk graces his face. She regains her composure, however, knowing full-well that this is not the time to be catching a case of the feels. He’s drunk and she’s gotta drag him home. That’s her prerogative.

“Maka~!” Soul sing songs, his arms opening wide for her to fall into his embrace. Instead she stands erect in front of him, her arms crossed against her chest.

“C’mon, Soul, let’s get out of here. You’re gonna have a killer migraine in the morning. Black*Star, Tsubaki’s on her way to get you.”

“TSUBAKI’S COMIN’?! MY GODDESS ISH GON’ GET ME?” His mouth drops into an ‘o’ shape, and Maka nods her head.

“Yes, she is. I’m not your keeper, and frankly Tsubaki isn’t either, but she’d rather you be safe. You better keep yourself out of trouble.”

“NOOOOO!! SHE’S NAH S’POSED TA KNOW I WUSH DRINKING!!” Black*Star howls, but Maka only rolls her eyes, extending a hand out to Soul who’s currently drooping over in his seat, about to pass out.

“Let’s go, Soul. You need to fall asleep at our house, not a dingy pub.” He complies, taking her hand before stumbling into her side, his arm hooking around her waist. Maka releases an involuntary squeak at the motion, but if Soul heard it, he made no mention of it aloud.

“Mmkay. I’m tired,” he groans into her neck. She desperately tries to will the traitorous goosebumps that prickle at her skin when his lips ghost her jugular away, but they’re there clear as day, and she just bears with it, hobbling out of the dimly lit bar with Soul in tow.

Jesus, he’s a billion pounds more when he’s drunk.

Maka’s not weak by any means, but carrying the entirety of Soul’s weight quickly becomes a daunting task with each passing minute as he presses up against her, sleep tempting to claim him. She jostles him a bit, hoping to keep him awake until she can get him to bed.

“Soul. Soul, wake up. I’m not going to carry you home.” He shifts himself so that he’s not depending on her much for support, but enough so that she can prevent him from tumbling into in open trashcan on the cobblestone sidewalks of Death City.

“A’right. I’m wake.” Maka shakes her head, sighing at her inebriated friend, but she’s glad that he isn’t a nuisance like Black*Star is when he’s drunk. He’s the same way as he is sober, the only difference being his slight silliness and slurring of words. It’s easier to handle that’s for sure.

“What were you doing getting drunk anyway, Soul? I mean, I don’t mind you drinking I guess, but drunk?” He shrugs, his mind a million miles away.

“I’s upset, I guess.” Upset? Yeah, definitely not the same Soul. Non-drunk Soul would never tell her about how he feels, which manages to frustrate her to no end.

“Upset about what?”

“That I can’t tell ya. That I’m ‘fraid.” Her heart stops along with her feet, her brain worrying over what he’s confessing. What can’t he tell her? What is he afraid of? Did he want to break up their partnership? Did he want to ditch her because she wasn’t good enough? That’s probably not it, but her mind wants her to think that. It only seems logical, since he’s been so distant lately.

He wouldn’t even kiss her, damnit! She knew rejection when she saw it, and she got over it. Her dumb feelings for her weapon would only prove to be a distraction anyway, and that’s the last thing they needed.

“What are you afraid to tell me?” she asks, her voice quiet, her feet moving them along again.

“I’m ‘fraid t’tell ya how I feel ‘bout ya.” How can he be so nonchalant about this? _Oh Death_ , he really did want to leave her, didn’t he?

“I see.” Maka’s half-tempted to leave him in the road, to let him find his way home when he’s less drunk in the morning, but she’s not cruel. Not even if her heart is hurting.

“Why ar’ya frownin’ like tha’? I don’t like it when ya’r sad,” Soul says, poking her in the cheek with his index finger. She swats his hand away.

“I’m not sad.”

“Maka.”

“. . .”

“Maaakaaaa~!” He snorts all of a sudden, chuckling. “Don’t be upsetti, have some spaghetti!” Maka glances over at him, cracking a small smile at his drunken humor.

“You’re dumb.”

“’N yer cute.” Maka’s head reels at his comment, and her heart pounds in her chest when she sees the way he’s looking at her, like he’s enamored with her. It doesn’t add up.

“What?” Soul stares blankly at her.

“Dumb, too. Ya wouldn’t know flirtin’ if it came at ya with a bat ‘nd hit ya.” He reaches over and boops her nose with his finger, his weight leaning against her again.

 _Flirting? Whaaaaaat?!_ Her only coherent sentence after that is:

“Soul, you’re drunk.”

He hums in acknowledgement of her statement, but he doesn’t try to take back his prior words. With all his inhibitions thrown out the window for the night, he’s lost the tight grip of anxiety that binds him, the tight grip that controls his every move like a marionette puppeteer. She tenses up when his breath caresses her ear gently, Soul’s contact with her much more intimate as his grip around her waist grows tighter.

“Maka, I don’t think I’m afraid anymore.” A shiver runs down her spine, her brain short-circuiting from his drunken confession. Her heart practically breaks free from her ribcage then, but she doesn’t do anything. Not today, at least, not while the scent of alcohol still stains his lips and courses through his veins. She wants to hear it from him when he’s completely lucid, when he’s positive that the fear he faces no longer has a hold on him.

“Let’s go home, Soul. We’ll talk in the morning.” He nods his head and obeys, his head resting on her shoulder as they stagger towards their apartment, the rays of the grinning moon encompassing their heads like a halo. When they finally reach their abode, Maka makes sure that Soul is settled safe in his bed before collapsing in her own, hand placed on her chest right above her heart.

Maka’s certain she’s in love with her weapon, and for once, the idea brings her peace.


	5. I want to go on long adventures with you.

This past week had been one of Soul’s most stressful weeks, and that was including the intense battle they faced with the Kishin Asura not too long ago. The thought of returning home to his parents in Maryland one day was pushed to the recesses of his mind until it had become a reality, right when a tiny manila envelope arrived in the mail with _Soul Evans_ scrawled in perfect pristine cursive writing. He would’ve downright refused, had his meister not convinced him to go check it out, because, according to Maka, it was “only a week after all”.

Little had she known, a week was anything _but_ when it concerned his parents.

But she supported him. Maka tagged right along for the whole seven days, enduring several backhanded compliments from his mother and numerous low, scrutinizing scowls from his father across the dining table. She was strong-willed, he knew that already, but she passed the test of tolerating the Evans’ family with flying colors. And, by the end of it, his mother and father had really, _really_ come to like her. In fact, they enjoyed her company so much that his mother would casually drop remarks about how amazing it would be to keep her close to the family, and that she wouldn’t mind a couple of white-haired green-eyed little ones running around the house down the road. Soul wanted to jump off a roof at that comment, but Maka laughed it off instead, not letting it affect her in the least bit. He thought he might actually want to marry her right then and there after that.

Soon they had to pack up and return, however (much to his mother’s chagrin and Soul’s utter delight), and they left the manor with Soul feeling better than when he had arrived. But _shit_ , was he exhausted after that whole ordeal, and it reflected in their silent road trip back home, the sounds of the tires skimming across the asphalt the only noise passing between their ears.

“Soul,” Maka cuts in three hours into the trip home, “You’ve been quieter than normal. What’s up?” Truth be told, he’s been lost in thought. Overall, he’s been considering how to cross the line they’ve been tiptoeing around for so long. But mostly he’s been thinking about his sheer gratitude for her willingness to be there for him at the drop of a dime without him even having to ask.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, his hands gripping the steering wheel firmly at ten and two, his concentration with the road never ceasing.

“Come again?” Of course she’d make him repeat it. He sighs, attempting to shake the tension out of his body before reiterating.

“Thank you, Maka.” Soul watches out of the corner of his eye as her vivid green eyes light up, her head leaning forward to try to gain an ounce of his attention without distracting him.

“Thank you? For what?” Oh Death, where does he even begin? Thank you for being my saving grace? Thank you for making me feel good about myself when I couldn’t do it on my own? Thank you for becoming my meister when no one else would? He supposes he’ll start small; she knows the rest, anyway. She’s connected with his soul enough times to figure it out.

“For going with me on this trip. I don’t think I could’ve done it alone, to be honest. So, uh, yeah. Thanks.” A soft smile tugs at the corners of her lips, lips that if he wasn’t driving at the current moment, he’d probably take the initiative to be all over them then and there.

“Of course, Soul. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you don’t have to. You’re not obligated.” He grimaces when the comment drops out of his mouth a bit too harsh, but she doesn’t seem to be affected by it. Instead, the smile fades away, a small frown taking residence upon her face instead.

“Yes I am, Soul. I wouldn’t make you do anything you didn’t really want to do on your own. We’re partners, through thick and thin. The moment I dessert you is the moment I give up on everything.” A lump forms in Soul’s throat as the weight of her words settles in his mind. Her brazen loyalty is part of what makes his crush on her not so little, and what causes his affections for her to heighten with each passing day. Maka means so fucking much to him it hurts sometimes, but the pain eases a lot more when he realizes that maybe his feelings aren’t as one-sided as he used to think.

 _Tiptoeing,_ he nags himself. _Tiptoeing._

He’s growing really fucking tired of holding back from her.

“Everything,” the word slips from his lips, because he’s truly began to mull over what she just admitted aloud to him unwittingly, “Is that what I am to you?” Soul can’t help but chuckle when she turns absolutely beet red, but she doesn’t deny it, either.

“W-Well, yeah! I mean, you’ve been a big part of my life for half of the time I’ve been alive. Why wouldn’t you be everything?” She’s not helping herself by elaborating, but Soul fucking _loves_ it. A grin splays wide across his face, his grip on the wheel loosening.

“You looooooove meeeee~!” Soul sing-songs, and Maka turns about as deep a shade of red as the rising sun over the horizon beyond them.

“Well you loooooove meeee back!” she echoes at him. Soul immediately pulls over to the side of the barren highway, his foot slamming down on the brakes, his hand guiding the stick shift into park. They jerk forward in their seats, eyes meeting once they settle down. Soul unbuckles and then reaches over slowly to undo Maka’s, their gazes never wavering.

And then it happens. The dam bursts and everything collapses—every inhibition and barrier that kept Soul from his one true source of happiness dissolves, his lips slanting against Maka’s with a ferocity and passion he’s never known before. Electricity pumps into his veins with each passing second, and Soul’s never felt more _alive_. Her nimble fingers thread through the strands of his hair in response, and Maka doesn’t dare push him away. They’ve both wanted this a long time, Soul discovers from the heightened link they’ve formed because of their close contact, and he feels like he’s on top of the world.

His moment of pure bliss ends when Maka removes her lips with an airy _pop_ , her forehead leaning up against his.

“Hmm,” she hums, her arms draping around his neck now, “Your mom is going to be one happy person when she finds out about this.” Soul’s head flops back and he emits a guttural groan as Maka giggles and buries her nose into the crook of his neck.

“You would ruin it, wouldn’t you? Leave Celeste Evans out of my romantic life. The last thing we need in our relationship is a middle-aged Catholic lady.” Maka sits upright, her head cocked to the side, brows raised in surprise.

“Our relationship?” _Fuck._ Yeah, he forgot that that’s the sort of shit you need to discuss with a person first. But then again, Maka wants a relationship with him, right? Or has he deeply miscalculated the situation?

“Uh yeah. I mean, you want that . . . right?” His eyes don’t meet up with hers for a split second, but when they do, she’s in his face again, her hands cupping his cheeks as she presses her lips firmly against his. There’s a lot of awkward shifting that happens between them in order to get comfortable (they’re making out in a car, after all), but he manages a semi-comfy criss-cross-apple-sauce sort of deal, Maka seated on his lap. His fingers inadvertently end up tracing the curvature of her spine, and she eases her tongue into his mouth, eliciting a moan from him.

For a couple of awkward people who were essentially kiss virgins only minutes ago, they seemed to be getting along just fine.

“Yes,” Maka breathes in between the quick pecks they’ve altered to, “I want that more than anything in the whole world, Soul. I want _you_.”

Soul pulls her back against him, continuing where they left off until a passing car on the highway honks its horn. The two pull apart, flushing with embarrassment as they get back onto the road, continuing their extensive trek home, the silence no longer an issue.


	6. I want to go to the movies and make out with you in the back like a couple of over excited teenagers.

Maka hums quietly to herself as she readies herself, assuring that every part of her is to her liking. Well, more specifically, _Soul’s_ liking. She doesn’t know why she’s acting like this, though. Maka’s far from a giddy school girl—she’s twenty, for Shinigami’s sakes! . . . Well, twenty as of a couple of months ago, but still!

The more she thinks about it, though, the more she doesn’t seem to mind.

Maka’s never been on a date. She’s not nervous because, well, she and Soul have made it perfectly clear how they feel about each other. _Crystal_ clear. But it’s still something she’s never experienced before, and part of her has this nagging feeling that once he does take her out he’ll realize how boring and bland she is and dump her.

“For the record, I’d never think that.” Maka shifts in place so that her attention is toward her door, where Soul is leaning against the door frame, a lopsided smirk painted across his face.

“Hey! How many times have I told you not to use the resonance to read my thoughts?!” Maka exclaims, but she’s not mad at him, not entirely. Just caught off-guard more than anything.

“I know, I know, but you seemed distressed. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Maka’s slight irritation with him fades away, replaced with a warmth stemming from his fondness for her. He’d never admit it aloud, not even in front of her, but Soul is a big softie at heart. And, with their sudden shift in their relationship, he’s been more keen to reveal it to her.

“Thanks, Soul.” A warm smile engulfs her, one full of fondness for her weapon, and transfers onto his own face. His eyes dart to the side then, his cheeks tinting with color as he clears his throat.

“Ah, um, surprise?” The hand of his that had previously been obscured by the wall comes into view, a crisp bouquet of fresh red roses in hand. Maka gasps, taking the bunch of flowers out of Soul’s grasp with gentle care, her nose leaning in to take a whiff of the floral aroma.

“Soul, this is so sweet. You didn’t have to do this,” she insists, but she’s only trying to be modest. She’d take flowers from him any day, without protest.

“I kinda felt like I had to,” he says, his hand scratching at the nape of his neck, a nervous tic.

“Well, let me put these in some water and then we’ll be on our way, okay?” He nods and lets Maka slide past him so she can access the kitchen, opening the cupboards to find the only vase they own in the entire house. She quickly chops off the ends of the flowers and sets them in after she’s filled the vase and emptied the feeding packet inside.

“Ready to go?” he asks once she’s next to him.

“Yup! Now come on, let’s get our butts to Death Cinemas before we miss the entire show!” Maka pushes Soul out the door in a hurry, not bothering to lock it since she knows Blair’s still napping inside somewhere. Soul nudges her to his side once they’ve hit pavement, their footsteps synchronizing as they make their trek towards their destination.

“Remind me again why we’re going to this crap movie again?” he queries from beside Maka, his fingers intertwined with hers. “It even sounds bad. Ugh, _Morticia’s Manifest_.”

“Because, _Soul_ , you haven’t taken me on a date yet, and I would like to see this movie,” she states, raising her nose to the air. Soul snorts.

“I thought what we were doing could be considered dating.”

“Making out does not a date make.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he whispers against her ear before running his tongue against the shell of it.

“Ugh!! Gross, Soul!” Maka shouts, flailing away from him as he cackles. “Besides, don’t you know anything about romance?”

“As I recall, I bought you flowers. That’s romance.” Maka side-eyes him, her mouth quirked to the side with disdain.

“That’s not romance, Soul. That’s a thoughtful gesture.”

“Okay, fine then. I’ll wine and dine you then sixty—”

“ _SOUL!!_ ” Her hand comes around to clasp at his mouth and shut him up, because _they’re in public for Shinigami’s sake_. Also, for as much stuff she’s already done with Soul (she’d never reveal it to any of her closest friends, not even Tsubaki), she’s still uncomfortable with the whole ‘intimacy’ thing. Maka would like to blame it on her good ol’ papa for that, but even she knows he’s not to blame. She’s just incredibly shy, but luckily enough for her, Soul makes certain not to push her boundaries. He’s a perfect, honest-to-god gentleman. At least, when he’s not using the other three-fourths of his day to be a complete ass.

“Alright, alright, you can get off me,” he shrugs her away, breaking free of her hands trapping his mouth, “We’re here anyway. Want me to pay?” She pauses, her mind reeling. Maka’s never been in a situation before where it’s okay for someone else to pay for her. She’s always dead-set on being able to provide for herself her entire life, but now she has a significant other, and that’s the kind of thing significant others do for each other.

“O-Okay,” Maka agrees as she and Soul saddle up to the ticket line, his eyes focused on the neon board with the movie listings printed in red. His eyes flicker over to her right away when he notices her hesitation, his eyebrows raised.

“Maka, you can say no. I’d understand.” She suddenly remembers why she got into a relationship with him in the first place, his ability to read between the subtleties of her own words being one of them. Shy fingers find his once again, her hand squeezing his firmly.

“No, really, it’s fine. Thank you.” He nods in acknowledgement and tugs her forward when the line moves an inch forward. Minutes later they find themselves at the window, ordering two adult tickets to _Morticia’s Manifest_. They grab the tickets and enter inside the building, deciding whether or not they want to splurge on expensive theater food. After they both insist they’re fine without, they locate theater number nine, walking down the empty corridor before they arrive at the seat section.

“Where do you want to sit?” Soul whispers behind his shoulder to her. Maka points upward to the very top of the seats.

“Up in the way back.” So she has a bit of a motive as to why she wants to go to the movie theater and suffer through the two hours and ten minutes that is _Morticia’s Manifest_ , but she wants to try something. At twenty years-old now, Maka’s missed her window for teenage dating shenanigans, and even though she’s far from her innate teenage instincts, she wants to at least experience the giddy school girl feeling of sneaking to the back of a movie theater and making out with her boyfriend. ( _Boyfriend_ , she likes using that word as often as possible now.)

They sit and suffer through several long minutes of previews once they’ve found a secluded area in the back, and they continue their normal movie theater diatribe fest as they’ve always conducted pre-relationship. When the remaining glow from the wall lights dim, Soul reaches over to pinch Maka’s arm to remind her to shut up, and she listens, silently proceeding with Plan “Make-Out-At-The-Movie-Theater”. (She knows it’s a lame title, but she doesn’t really give a shit as long as it’s successful.) She waits patiently for forty minutes of the movie to pass before making her move on Soul, unbeknownst to him.

“Wow. Tony does _not_ deserve Morticia.” Her fingers slide across his chest before wrapping around his tie to pull him towards her. “ . . . What’re you doooing?” His face grows red when his gaze finds hers in the dark, staring at him seductively from behind half-lidded eyes.

“I have to admit, I didn’t _really_ want to see _Morticia’s Manifest_.” Soul stares at her, a blank expression trodden upon his face as he tries to calculate her meaning. Maka rolls her eyes—he sure can be dumb sometimes.

“Hah? But I thought you wanted to see this movie—” She emits a heavy sigh before the light bulb sparks in his mind, his eyes widening in surprise. “ _Ohhhhhhhh!_ ”

“This okay with you? Or did you really want to find out if Morticia dumps Tony or not?”

“Hell no. Fuck Morticia.” Maka pulls Soul towards her lips.

“That’s what I thought.”


	7. I want to lay with you under the stars and talk about the future like I’ve got it all planned.

Maka’s lounging on their couch with a book snug in her hands when he sidles up next to her, nudging the cushion with his foot. Soul’s got plans for them, because he’d like to be a little spontaneous sometimes—they’ve settled into their six months of heaven, and they’re venturing into the true territory of what it is to be in an intimate relationship. Soul wants to let her know that they haven’t reached their peak, that she and he aren’t in a state of constant monotony. He doesn’t want to lose her, not when the going is getting good.

“What’s up?” she asks, her eyes remaining focused on the browned pages of her novel.

“C’mon. Get yer ass up. We’re going out.”

He’s more than piqued her interest this time, earning him a peek at those emerald beauties he loves so much.

“At ten at night? What on earth are we going to do this late at night? I have a test in the morning!” Soul rolls his eyes at her, remembering that his girlfriend doesn’t have a spontaneous bone in her body, and that first and foremost, education dominates her entire being. Unfortunately for her, she’s going to have to bend her own rules for once, just for his sake. He thinks the occasion is worth it, to say the least.

“It’s a surprise.” She cocks her head at him, a skeptical look on her face. He sighs. “C’mon, Maka, it’s a good surprise. Live a little.” A glint of light sparks in her eyes, and he knows she took the bait—she’s never one to back down from a challenge.

“Alright. Let me get my jacket and shoes.” She closes her book with a gentle _thud_ before swinging her legs off the side of the couch and propelling herself towards her room.

Maka returns not a moment later, her shoulders covered by her favorite maroon DWMA hoodie and her old worn sneakers on her feet.

“Ready?” he asks her. She nods her head.

“Ready.”

His hands worm their way into his pockets as they exit the house, Maka locking it up behind them. She follows behind in silence as they make their way towards his motorcycle parked out front, waiting to be ridden. Soul feels a _chink_ from Maka’s soul, her natural response to his bike. It’s always been a bit of an eyesore, in her opinion (says the girl who knows dick about color theory, expressed directly in her wardrobe), and an accident waiting to happen, but he doesn’t care. The motorcycle’s here to stay, and he bought her a helmet, so in _his opinion_ she should have nothing to bitch about.

For once, Maka makes no motion to mention aloud how they could just walk to wherever they’re going and climbs on behind him. The only time she attempts to say something is right before he turns on the vehicle, her bony fingers tapping against his neck.

“Huh?”

“Where’s the helmet?” Yeah, he may have forgotten that this time around. But _damnit_ , he’s a safe driver, they don’t have to go too far, and he’s not about to turn around for a fucking helmet.

“Don’t need it. Place isn’t too far away.” She doesn’t fight him on this, either, wrapping her arms around his middle and nuzzling into his back instead.

Jeez, who is she and what has she done with the real Maka Albarn?

“Hold on tight,” he mutters before putting the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life. Soul speeds off towards the spot he’s been eyeing the past couple of weeks, his chest warm and thumping from Maka’s closeness despite the fact that they’ve been together for quite a while now. He’s truly and sincerely happy that they managed to take this step forward in their relationship, because he’s loved her a long time, as long as he can remember. The feeling is a little too sappy for him, but when it comes to Maka, he doesn’t spend an inkling of time caring. She’s all he’s ever wanted and more, and he’ll surrender to stupidity if it means that she’ll be beside him for the rest of their waking days.

The motorcycle slows after five minutes down the long stretch of road, his destination finally in sight. Soul stops the motorcycle, pulling out the key while Maka slides off the back, gaining balance on her own two feet. He gets off right after her, digging through the compartment of the motorcycle to get the necessary items to make this night perfect: a warm blanket to lay on and a bag full of Maka’s favorite sweets. Needless to say, he wanted to put a little effort toward tonight. It was a little special to them, after all, even if neither one of them had voiced it aloud.

His fingers find hers and he tugs her gently towards their destination, a patch of fresh green grass atop a hill, a perfect view of the stars. Once they’ve reached it, Maka helps spread out the blanket and then collapses on the ground, looking upward at the stars. She doesn’t have to ask him why they’re there in the first place; she knows his intention of the trip. Maka pats the ground next to her, inviting Soul to lie down next to her, and he acquiesces, placing the bag of goodies between them before facing up at the stars.

“So, six months?” Maka grins mirthfully, side-eyeing Soul. Heat prickles at his cheeks.

“I know, it’s a little cheesy—”

“I like it, Soul. It’s perfect.” She leans over to plant a quick peck on his cheek, and he feels his face go completely red. He tries desperately to will it away, but with no avail.

“Yeah, uh, no problem. Thought you’d enjoy it.”

“Well, I do. I understand you have some treats for me?” Soul nods his head, reaching into the bag and withdrawing a small black box. He flips the lid open, revealing two cupcakes decorated to the nines with frosting and sprinkles galore.

“The line was a billion miles long, but I’ve been told they’re worth it.”

“They are! I can’t believe you went to Death Cakes for me,” Maka croons, snatching one of the cupcakes from the box. “Thanks, Soul. You’re the best!”

God, this girl is gonna be the death of him.

“No problem, Maka.” Soul indulges in the other cupcake, which was _definitely_ worth it. The dessert has to be made purely of sugar and chock full of diabetes, but if it were to be the thing to make him push daisies, he’d be alright with it.

“Oooh, I just saw a shooting star!” He looks over to where Maka’s finger is pointing, despite knowing that it’s already long gone. The stars twinkle brightly in the night sky above, the clearest night he’s ever witnessed while living in Death City.

“What’d you wish for?” he asks, and she shoots him a coy smile.

“Not telling.”

“C’mon, share with the rest of the class now.”

“If I tell you, then it won’t come true!”

“Maybe I can make it happen?” Maka’s mood shifts suddenly from bubbly to timid, shying away from his prying stare.

“ . . . It’s embarrassing,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. Soul nudges her playfully with his elbow, quirking a grin.

“You know you can tell me anything. The rule applied when we were partners, same rule applies now that we’re dating.” Maka contemplates the thought for a moment, puckering her mouth to the side with indecision until she’s made her mind up.

“Alright, fine,” she says, giving in, “But don’t laugh at it! I’m serious about this.”

“As serious as a kishin attack?” She nods her head.

“As serious as a kishin attack.” So he waits, giving her the go ahead to tell him the wish that has been keeping him on the edge of his seat for the duration of the night. “I wished that my plans for the future would work out.”

“What plans for the future? And how can you already have those? I don’t even have tomorrow morning mapped out.” Maka casts him a dirty look, shutting him up.

“Like I said, it’s dumb.” Soul tugs on her arm, trying to get her to look at him (and get back into her good graces.)

“No, it’s not. Your wish isn’t dumb at all. I’d wish for the same thing, too, only I would probably be more specific.” That catches her attention, her eyebrow shooting upward.

“Oh yeah? What’s your big plan then?”

Soul feels his cheeks burn an uncool shade of scarlet from her prodding question. He had a plan, of course, always had since he realized he was head-over-heels, balls-deep in love with her, but did he want to share that with her, his deepest desires? _No!_ And not because she’s not involved in his proposed future—she is his future, and it’d be so _uncool_ to admit that aloud. But this is Maka he’s talking to, and he doesn’t keep secrets from her, not anymore (she’d flay him alive if he did.) So for her, he caves in--at least, as much as he can without getting a cavity from the tooth-aching sweetness he’s about to deliver to her.

“Uh, I guess . . . just . . . us?” _Nailed it._

“I think I’m going to need more context than just ‘us’.” Oh, _okay_. Now he gets it. She’s toying with him, because she knows exactly how unsentimental he can be.

“ _Fine_ ,” Soul huffs. “It’s just that I never imagined my future without you, you know? Whenever I pictured us like twenty years down the road, it was always you and me together, same as always. Well, maybe not crammed in that crummy apartment of ours still. We’d have an actual house and you would be a professor at the academy, and we’d—” He stops before he gets too ahead of himself, knowing full well that his face is probably as ruddy as the desert around them now.

“C’mon, finish it!” Maka urges, knocking her shoulder into his. She’s more flattered about his itinerary of the future than he thought, and by noticing the barest hint of pink upon her cheeks, he realizes that this is something that she might be into.

“Agh,” Soul groans, casting his attention to the side. He can’t look her in eyes for this part. It’s too . . . _uncool_. “I thought that we’d maybe have . . . one or two kids down the road. See, I take it back. Saying it aloud was stupid.”

“ _Soul Evans_ ,” Maka whispers his name with a reverence, “How did you read my mind?”

“What?”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you and me.” She presses a gentle kiss to his temple, and suddenly he doesn’t feel as dumb about his confession anymore. He feels his blood pump faster and his heart soar within his ribcage, and an abrupt epiphany raises to his mind. Soul’s definitely not willing to share it, not to Maka just yet, but he will. Someday in the future he’ll tell her, maybe when they’re not having to figure this whole “relationship” thing out and when they have everything mostly together. But he senses deep down, not in just his heart, but his soul too, that it will happen, and if that’s what he can hope for in his future, then it’s not stupid. Nope, not at all.

“Happy anniversary, Maka,” he mutters, leaning against her shoulder, the peaceful sound of crickets chirping lulling him to sleep.

“Happy anniversary, Soul. And many, many more to come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blah blah blah quick blurb because I'm tired but I wanted to upload this chapter in the very least.
> 
> I'm still definitely working on this with six more chapters remaining! Also soon to come: another SoMa multi-chapter fic (here's a small hint about it: Veronica Mars au!)
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!


	8. I want to break in your arms once in awhile because I don’t have it all planned.

She needs to just breathe. Relax. It’s going to be _okay_.

_You are calm, you are cool, you are collected. You are calm, you are cool, you are collected. You’re Maka Albarn, and you can do it._

Today is a monumental day in the life of Maka Albarn, and nothing will screw this up. This is a moment she’s been looking forward to for years, and she’s determined that it will go exactly as she plans it. What’s even better about it is that Soul will be right by her side as always, and he’ll get to partake in this great day with her, too.

Maka’s mother is going to visit, and all of Maka’s hard work is finally going to pay off when she introduces her greatest achievement to this day—her first (and the last) Deathscythe ever created (who also happens to be her boyfriend, the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae that is her life). Maka’s sure that her mother will be proud of all the things she’s accomplished, and the thought fills her with delight. Making her mother proud is all she’s ever wanted to do in life, and she’d like to think that she’s done that fairly well.

For now, though, she gets to prepare herself for their dinner, and Maka starts readying herself hours before just to make sure that everything is _perfect_.

“Death, you’re gonna put Kid to shame with the lengths you’re going for just a dinner date.” Soul creeps up behind her while she’s putting a modest amount of makeup on, and she spins around to shoot him a dirty look.

“It’s not _just_ a dinner date, Soul. This is my _mother_ we’re talking about.”

He rolls his eyes at her, and she feels her blood pressure rise from the jack-assery he’s pulling at the moment.

“Yeah, it’s your mom. And she’s gonna be fine with you being there alone, Maka. Stop stressing yourself out more than you need to.” He places his hands on her shoulders and turns her around, kneading her trapezius muscles once her back is facing towards him. She lets him get away with pissing her off because he’s right; she doesn’t need more stress added onto her, so she focuses on her mantra she’s been telling herself all day, letting Soul continue the massage while she does so.

_You are calm, you are cool, you are collected._

All is balanced in the world, and all is under her direct control. She is calm, she is cool, she is collected. She is Maka Albarn, and she can do it. A dinner date with her mother is a piece of cake, a walk in the park. Nothing can go wrong.

“Alright, I gotta get ready. Someone wants me in a suit for some reason,” he eyes her after that part (it’s to impress her mother, but she’ll admit it’s also for her own personal gain; she likes to see him in a suit, so sue her), “And I have to deliver. I’ll meet you back out in the living room in ten.”

Soul releases her, pressing a chaste kiss to her neck before leaving her to her own devices as he disappears down the hallway. Maka breathes her mantra as she finishes with her mascara, but she doesn’t need it as much, now. She needs to give Soul a little more credit—he knows how to treat her just right, and after several years of acquainting themselves with one another, he’s got Maka damage control locked down. Her appreciation of that boy knows no bounds.

 

//

 

“ _Death_ , woman, slow down already! We’ll get there when we get there!” Soul resists Maka’s determined push towards the restaurant they’ve booked, attempting to get Maka to slow down, as well.

“We have to get there in a timely fashion, Soul. I don’t want us to be late.”

“We’re already twenty minutes early, Maka. I highly doubt we’ll be late, considering it’s just a few blocks away from our apartment. Besides, even if your mom is there, she’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know my mama! She’s probably waiting for us there already with a stern look on her face!”

“I think I have a pretty good idea of what she’s like,” Soul mutters under his breath, but if Maka heard it, she makes no motion to mention it aloud.

Because of her persistent nature, Soul indulges Maka’s need to hurry towards the restaurant, but slows her down only a tad bit, if only to save her from herself (she is wearing heels, after all). Maka’s grateful that he can show off his soft spot for her every once in a while, and she’ll use it to her advantage while she can.

They arrive precisely fifteen minutes ahead of time and are seated right away, despite it not being the time they reserved. Once they reach the table, Soul pulls out Maka’s chair (and they say chivalry is dead) and lets her sit down before he takes his own seat across from her. Menus are laid down in front of them, but Maka doesn’t touch hers, not quite yet. She doesn’t feel comfortable ordering anything without her mother there to order with them. Anxiety pulses through her body, her legs bobbing up and down to the point where they shake the table, causing Soul to reach under the table and rest his hand on her knee to calm her down.

“ _Relax_ ,” he says, stroking her leg not in a seductive fashion, but in a way to quell the pent-up tension she has. “She’ll be here soon enough, and she’ll be proud of you. You’re her daughter, after all.”

Soul has a point. She’s always considered herself more like her mother than her father (for more than one justifiable reason, at that), and if anything, she’s more than exceeded any expectations her mother could have set for her. Maka’s excelled at near damn everything, and if that doesn’t make her mom proud, she doesn’t know what will. She does know one thing, however—she’s glad Soul’s here with her. Maka doesn’t think she could do this without him, and that goes the same for every situation she faces.

“Alright,” she nods her head in agreement, doing her best to compose herself. She remembers her mantra again and repeats it for the next fivetenfifteentwentytwentyfivethirty minutes until it starts to fade inside her mind, not holding the same weight as it had prior to their trip here.

Her mother is fifteen minutes late, and Kami Albarn is anything but late. She’s punctual, and her tardiness is starting to set Maka on edge. Not only is her mother _not here_ , but it’s setting her whole itinerary into disarray. Will they still have time for all the things she’s planned if she’s off schedule? Soul watches her warily behind his menu, waiting for her to say something about her mother’s lack of appearance first.

“Maybe the flight took longer than expected?” she says aloud, more to convince herself rather than Soul.

“Maybe,” he hums, but skepticism is still painted clear upon his face. There has to be a perfectly good explanation for this, and Maka refuses to let her mind wander to the worst possibilities, reaching into her bag to grab her phone.

Right as she does so, her mother’s name appears on the screen, Maka’s heart rate picking up out of relief.

“She’s calling me! I better step outside to take this.” Soul waves her on and mutters something along the lines of, “I’ll be here when you get back,” but Maka’s too focused on taking this call. This is the first time since her mother wrote to her that she was returning that she’s talking to her other than through email, the first time she gets to hear her voice in a long, _long_ while. She presses the call button, answering the phone.

“Mom?”

“Maka, honey, I’m glad I was able to get a hold of you.” Her mother’s tone is just as she remembers—stoic and to the point, never wavering.

“Mom, I’m glad you called! Soul and I are waiting for you in the restaurant, so if it’s taking you a while then that’s fine. Just let me know when—”

“Maka, I can’t make it tonight. I’m going to be stuck in Lisbon for longer than I thought, and I don’t know when I’ll be leaving. Sorry.” _Oh._

“T-That’s fine. Is this your only long distance call you can place?” Her voice is trembling and feeble, nothing like what she usually sounds like at all, and she prays that her mother doesn’t notice.

“Yes, so unfortunately I need to hang up now. Goodbye, Maka.”

“Bye, Mom.” She hears the receiver hang up on the other end, the line going dead with the unpleasant dial tone that reads as despair for her at the moment. Her mother isn’t coming. Nine years without anything but an amalgamation of cheap postcards and her mother finally contacts her, only to say that she can’t make it to see her only daughter. She just can’t find the time in her busy schedule to add Maka to the list, and Maka suddenly understands why her father stayed and her mother left.

 

What a big pile of shit this night turned out to be.

 

Maka takes refuge outside the entrance of the stupidly expensive restaurant they picked out for this dumb occasion, and after several minutes she feels a slight nudge of her leg, and she knows just who it is.

“Go away,” she mumbles into her arms that she’s buried herself in, not daring to glance up.

“Nope. Not gonna go ‘til you tell me what’s up.” Her eyes finally rise to meet his, and is relieved to see that there is not pity in his gaze. The only thing she can sense is sheer concern for her wellbeing, but she doesn’t have it in her to care at the moment.

“She’s not coming.” Soul makes no comment at that, holding his hand out to her.

“C’mon, get up off the ground. It’s dirty and cold out, and we need to eat.” Maka wants to take his hand. She wants to forget that she had built her hopes up so high for this day only to have them crumble, but she can’t. She just _can’t_.

“Just _go_ , Soul. Leave me alone,” Maka whispers feebly, swatting his hand away.

“Yeah, we both know that’s not gonna happen. I’m not leaving until you’re with me.” He extends his hand out once again and Maka decides to grip it with her own, rising to her feet. Soul attempts to place his hand onto her back to lead her back into the restaurant, but she’s not having any of it. Fifteen minutes was long enough to ruminate over the indignation welling in the pit of her stomach, and his kindness does nothing to quell it. Quite the opposite, and she just doesn’t get it.

Why her? What did she ever do to deserve this from Soul? She’s a pathetic mess, and he doesn’t need her to ruin what he’s worked so hard at the past several years. Soul could do a lot better without her, that’s for sure.

“Why me?”

“Hah?”

“Why did you choose me?” Soul’s brow furrows at that, confused by her question.

“Maka—”

“You don’t need me, Soul. I’m only a hindrance, a burden and I don’t deserve you! Just leave already, okay?”

“That’s bullshit, Maka, and you know it. You’ve never been a burden to me, not ever. What are you so afraid of?”

“ _Nothing._ ”

Frustration rolls off of him in waves.

“Maka.”

“I’m not afraid of anything!” She’s hiding something, and it makes Soul’s frustration turn to anger.

“ _Maka_ ,” he states her name with such conviction that it reverberates throughout her system, sending shivers down her spine.

Dutiful, loyal Soul. How can she hate him so much yet love him all the more at the same time? She’s not good enough for him, she’s not worthy of what he’s offering. If this is how she handles one person deserting her, then maybe she should cut the problem off by the head before it gets worse.

Maka hums a low response, the words penetrating achingly throughout her chest.

“Come again?”

“I said, we should break up.” Brows furrow in utter confusion. Piercing crimson eyes become addled and filled with hurt. Pain flows from his wavelength like a tidal wave.

“ _What_ ,” is all he can manage. Maka sucks in a breath, trying to convince herself this is a good idea.

“You and I aren’t working, okay? Now leave.” Soul’s feet remain rooted in the ground, first clenched tight against his side.

“Maka,” he bellows, her name no longer a conviction but a weight on her shoulders, magnetizing her in her spot. “Give me _one_ good reason why I should go, and I’ll let you have your way. One. Good. Reason.”

“Because I’ll leave you like my mother did me, okay?!” Any semblance of noise within proximity of them dies down, the barest hint of a solemn cricket’s lullaby echoing gently through the air.

“ . . . Maka, you won’t do that,” Soul says calmly, his expression rigid and without emotion all of a sudden.

“How do you know that?! How could you possibly know that?!” His strong fingers find hers, gripping her hand tight enough so that she can’t get away from him, not easily, at least. His eyes soften when he notices the tears threatening to break free from the hold she has on them, and he urges her a little closer towards him.

“Because you’re Maka Albarn, and you never give up.” His thumb reaches upward to wipe away a stray tear rolling down her cheek before leaning his forehead up against hers. “Besides, aren’t those my kind of lines? If there’s anybody who doesn’t deserve someone, it’s me not deserving you. You’re the reason I stopped running, Maka. What did I do to deserve that from you?”

“You gave me the ability to trust again,” she tells him, sniffling, “I never thought I would feel the need to rely on anyone after my parent’s divorce, but then you came along and I learned that in order to be partners, we needed to learn to depend on one another.”

"And that wasn’t such a bad thing?”

“No, it wasn’t. It was probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me. _You_ , Soul. You are the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me. I’m sorry what I said back there, it was uncool.” Soul snorts, caressing her cheek.

“Very uncool of you.” He presses a light kiss to the tip of her nose. “I’m sorry about your mom. I know how much you wanted her here.”

“Yeah, well, I should’ve expected it. She never made time for me after the divorce, just sent letters,” Maka shrugs.

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about you. You are her daughter after all. If anything, she’d be proud of you. She’s also going to miss out on one hell of a dinner. I hope you don’t mind, but I kind of ordered for the both of us already. Chicken parm okay?” Maka manages a laugh, a small grin appearing upon her face.

“You know me well, Evans.”

“I sure as hell hope so, Albarn. Now c’mon, let’s get our asses back inside and eat. I’m starving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that took a while to write! I'm glad I finally got it done, and shout out to my friend astralazuli for betaing this chapter! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as we get down to the nitty gritty of the last few chapters!


	9. I want to bore with you with my favorite shows and movies even though you insist it is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than the last couple, but definitely more cheerful (for the most part) than the last one. Enjoy!

Soul makes love to her gently that night—not fucking, because they’re not desperate and hungry for intimacy. He holds her gently and gives praise to every porcelain inch of skin that adorns her body. Each kiss holds his promises to her—the ones he vowed from the very beginning of their partnership to the ones he’s augmented along the way. He licks away the salt staining her cheeks when she begins crying and nestles against her until she’s fast asleep. In the pale of the moonlight he watches her, reveling in the fact that even when she’s as exhausted and emotionally raw as she is, she’s the most goddamn beautiful thing he’s ever cast his eyes upon.

In the morning he rises before her, a first for the Albarn-Eater household in the ten years they’ve been living together, and he makes her breakfast in bed. He hopes Maka doesn’t get the wrong message as she’s prone to—he’s not trying to pity her. Soul’s only trying to show her that he’ll be there for her, and he’ll make her burdens lighter in any way he can.

Blueberry pancakes are a good way to start that.

Soul’s reasonably glad he bothered taking cooking lessons from Tsubaki all those years ago—they’re perfect, not a hint of char or browning on any side. One freshly-squeezed glass of orange juice later and he’s ready to present her with an awesome “Sorry-Your-Mom-Is-Shit” breakfast, one that he hopes will assuage her ache, if only a little.

Soul strides towards his bedroom door, food in hand, and after nudging it open with his hip, he discovers that Maka is already awake. Her eyes are bleary, red ringing around the edges, and upon further examination, he notices moisture at her cheeks only made prominent by the light peering through his blinds. She’s been crying again.

“I made you food,” Soul offers softly. He sits next to her on the bed and gives her the plate of blueberry pancakes he’s stacked up, decorated to the nines in whip cream. Maka manages a hint of a smile, glassy green eyes reflecting admiration back.

“Thanks.”

As she takes a heaping bite of her pancakes, Soul threads his fingers through her fine strands of wheat-blonde hair absentmindedly, waiting for conversation from Maka only when she’s ready.

“Watch something with me?” It’s a simple question, and it throws Soul off a bit. He knew she was never an outright emotional person, but he did expect her to at least talk to him more about what happened. Hell, he even wanted her to grab some of their fine china and launch it out the window until it shattered, just so she could let the anger pour out of her. Instead, she’s taking the passive route, one that is not Maka Albarn at all. But he’ll take it. If anything, one of his most favorite pass times is watching television with her.

“Of course.”

They remain on the bed until Maka’s finished her breakfast, Soul taking her dishes to the sink while she stalks away to the couch. He figures he’ll let her put on whatever she wants. He’ll waste the day away with her as long as it makes her feel better.

When he enters the living room, Maka’s sure a sight to behold, cocooned in blankets she’s retrieved from all around the house. He spots his favorite blanket, the one with pianos stitched into it (a gift from his ever-doting grandmother), sticking out from the side of her nest.

“Blanket hog,” Soul mutters.

“You can join,” Maka tells him, her arm stretching out as she creates an opening for him to nestle against her. Soul can’t say no at this point, not just because it’s warm and inviting and _Maka_ , but he’s always been a glutton for cuddling. Not that he’d ever admit that aloud.

Soul grabs the remotes and takes the spot next to her, joining her inside the warm cocoon of blankets. He turns the TV on and goes immediately to Netflix, relinquishing the remote to Maka after.

“Your pick.” She shakes her head.

“No, you go ahead and pick. I want to watch what you want to watch.” Soul raises a brow at her.

“Really?” She nods. “Honest to Shinigami?”

“Honest to Shinigami.”

“You’re certain you want to watch whatever I want to watch?” Maka’s face softens, a full-fledged smile blooming upon her face.

“I just want to be with _you_ , Soul. I want to watch whatever you want to watch because it matters to you.” His heart just might melt right here and now. Damn that girl and her ability to whittle her way into his heart.

“Alright. Get ready for a freakin’ awesome marathon of whatever the hell I want.”

In the end, Soul picks something they both enjoy. He can’t justify encroaching on her turn of what to choose, and he honestly wants to just be with her as well. So he puts on _Chopped_ and Maka snuggles against him, lips never curving downward. Sometimes the best kind of medicine is just being together in the end, and even though Soul wasn’t in as bad of shape as Maka, he starts feeling better, too.

Halfway through their marathon he glances over at her, brushing stray strands of hair out of her face before asking,

"You okay now?" Maka tilts her head upward to gaze at him, and he catches that spark in her eyes that he feared she might've lost flickering again. She leans in and kisses him gently a moment, sitting back afterward to answer his question.

"Much better." She pauses before adding, "Thanks for being here for me." Soul grins, pushing his forehead against hers.

"Always and forever."


	10. I want to play video games with you and sulk when I lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I'm finally updating this!! After for-fucking-ever!!!
> 
> Sorry about that. 
> 
> Hopefully the remaining three chapters will be soon to follow! And as always, thanks for reading :)
> 
> Enjoy!

He’s been gone for a month.

It’s driving Maka insane; she’s been stir-crazy, first of all, and second of all, she’s been _dying_ to get back on the field, scythe in hand. The only problem with that is her scythe is in the hands of her boss, out in Australia for some witch conference they were cordially invited to. Except for her, naturally. And as the Last Deathscythe, her _boyfriend_ has to fulfill a good portion (not all, but most) of his duties towards their Shinigami.

So he reluctantly packed his bag, kissed her a couple ( _several_ ) times, then headed out the door with promises that he’d be back soon.

A _month_. It’s been a freaking month! She’s about to go completely insane if she doesn’t do _something_.

So she busies herself instead.

Maka cleans the apartment from top to bottom, dusting every crevice she can and organizing everything and tossing out all the things they had been meaning to get rid of a long while ago. Soul’s room no longer remains a pigsty, the fridge is cleaned out, there are no traces of feline fur roaming about . . . it’s almost cathartic to her. When all the cleaning is finished, Maka locates that stack of books she’s been planning to read for when she and Soul aren’t busy, and by the end of the month she’s finished the stack and wants to explode from her extended vacation.

She hopes, in the very least, that Soul is having a freaking dandy time in Australia.

Well, part of her also hopes he’s had to deal with an infestation of spiders (heaven knows Australia is good for them, especially _large_ ones), but that’s just the slight jealousy/bitter nerd in her talking.

After some motivation from Tsubaki, she finally starts stepping foot outside the apartment to grab groceries that they’ve needed (Soul is _terrible_ at keeping up with the shopping). Maka admits that she missed the air outside—the stuffiness of their living quarters has certainly been getting to her, so taking a stroll down the cobblestone streets of Death City does her good. She appreciates taking a trip to the store for once, buying the essentials as well as a treat for Soul for when he gets back (if he ever returns, that is.) Her feet trace their way back up to the front of the store and she pays for it, taking her two brown paper bags filled with the essentials and them some and walking them back to the apartment.

After opening the door, it becomes apparent to her that the apartment smells inherently of _boy_ —definitely not the state she left it in—and her mouth drops open into a small o-shape when she finds the source of it: Soul has returned, and he’s hanging out with Black*Star.

“Duuuude! I fucking got your ass! You totally owe me a couple of beers now.”

“Yeah, well, if Link wasn’t such a bastard then—” Soul registers the faint _click_ of the door, and Maka knows that he knows better than to ignore the constant push of her soul’s wavelength against his. Her eyes remain placid and unmoving, and it noticeably unnerves Soul to no end.

“Bro, I’m totally kicking your ass! What’s the big deal? Is wittle Soul scared of the big Black*Star—”   

“BLACK*STAR. OUT. _NOW._ ”

Maka’s voice booms throughout the apartment, and Black*Star’s controller drops out of his hands. He stares at Maka a moment, and although he’s not frightened of her, he knows better than to get in the way of the situation. Black*Star splits faster than a speeding bullet, leaving Soul to his own devices with Maka.

“Hey, Maka,” Soul greets her nervously, obviously afraid of any sort of wrath she might instill in him for not letting her know that he had returned home.

“ _Soul,_ ” she spits out, her arms crossed and her foot tapping violently. Soul gulps.

“What’s up—” he starts to say, but Maka cuts him off, her hand extending out in front of him, almost smacking him in the face.

“Controller. _Now_.”

Soul relinquishes the controller without another word, visibly discomforted by Maka as she scrolls through the list of characters until she finds the one she wants. When she notices that Soul isn’t doing anything, she shoots him a look that could not just kill, but _annihilate_ , and he scrambles to find his own controller and just go along with it.

And then they sit in silence as Maka mashes buttons, her brow furrowed and stature rigid, the air between them unsteady and unnerving as the game continues.

Then, in the last few seconds of the game, Soul manages to kick her ass, and Maka stills a moment before dropping the controller on the ground, leaning back into the couch with her arms crossed, and just _pouts_.

Yeah, she’s mad. And Soul remains confused as hell.

“Are you . . . are you pouting?” he asks her. Maka chews furiously at her cheek, not daring to direct her attention to Soul _at all_.

_“No,”_ she mutters, but Soul knows her better than that. His face seems to soften after she says that, understanding the situation finally.

“So you’re mad at me because I didn’t tell you I was back before I told Black*Star?”

“I’m mad because I lost the freaking game!!” Maka exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air, exasperated.

“And not because of the other thing?” She puckers her lips, casting her gaze in his direction cautiously.

_“That too.”_

Soul chuckles, grabbing her gently by the wrist before pulling her into a hug. His warmth radiates around her, and she can’t help but melt in his embrace.

She did miss him, after all.

“You know, I _literally_ just got back and Black*Star managed to catch me only half an hour before you got back?” Maka shakes her head under his chin. “Because I _was_ waiting for you first, but somehow Black*Star got wind of it and came over as soon as possible. I’ve missed you so fucking much, and you were the first thing I wanted to see when I came back. Our timing just happened to be shit.”

Maka mumbles into his chest, and Soul raises a brow.

“Come again?” he asks her. Maka cranes her neck to look up at him, still holding onto Soul as tight as possible.

“I _said,_ I missed you a lot, too,” she admits, her cheeks prickling with an embarrassed heat. Soul grins, pushing her bangs back and placing a soft kiss on her forehead before returning his attention back to her.

“So are we good then?” Maka nods, giving him a bashful smile. She leans up to his ear after, wanting to tell him something that only he can hear, so she whispers softly,

_“I’m gonna kick your ass next time we play.”_ She feels Soul tense against her, and all feels right with the world again.

“There’s the Maka I know and love,” he sighs.


End file.
